A/N: Thanks so much for reading, and for your continued support.

This chapter contains one of my favorite scenes in the story ;) (well - obviously i'm biased because this whole story is my slightly-out-of-control baby, but the scene i'm talking about was one of my favorites to think about and write. so i wanted to give it a quick mention).

No Such Thing as a Perfect Family (16)

The next morning brought a flurry of activity that made Rusty's head spin.

He could hear voices, so many of them, subdued murmurs and agitated calls, hurried footsteps on the other side of the door and bits of conversation drifting up from downstairs. When he looked out from the bedroom window he saw a string of cars pulling up the driveway, and they all slowly drove around the house to make room for more cars, and there were so many people he couldn't believe it. Older folk stepping out of the cars in couples, white-haired women on the arms of their grown children and elderly men greeting each other with long handshakes and grave hugs. People Sharon's age and even her children's age, escorting their parents and grandparents, all of them dressed the same, a frightening sea of black suits and dark gloves and solemn faces.

His old anxiety and uncertainty began bubbling to the surface again under the threat of so many strangers and unfamiliar rituals, but fortunately most of the activity seemed contained in the downstairs area, so at least in the bedroom he was relatively removed from it. Still, the restless rhythm of the day reached the upstairs even if the flood of people didn't. Doors opened and closed up and down the hallway, and there was a general air of agitation, restrained whispers bouncing tense and urgent off the wooden walls.

Having woken up at seven, Ricky was in and out of the room every five minutes, constantly checking on his family in the midst of getting ready, running small errands and fielding phone calls as he got out his dark suit and ironed a tie and brushed his teeth. Katie had come in a couple of times, too, still in her slacks and old sleeping shirt, her hair pinned up as carelessly as it had been when she'd first met Rusty at the airport. She looked more tired now, though she'd spared him a fleeting smile and a 'good morning' as she hurriedly rummaged through Ricky's suitcase for a phone charger before rushing back out of the room.

He met 'Aunt Mary-Anne' when she accidentally barged in, staring at him in momentary confusion for a second before it visibly dawned on her who he was. "Sorry – I… wrong door," she sighed, looking a little hassled, and Rusty noticed that she carried an old shopping bag in her hands. "Ricky – honey, have you seen your mother?" She'd held up the bag then. "These are for her…"

Ricky had pulled his head out of the closet and suggested trying his grandmother's bedroom, and a minute later Rusty could hear Sharon's voice coming up the hallway, thanking Mary-Anne for whatever the woman had brought her, but he couldn't quite hear what that was because Katie had rushed back in just then saying something about an extra sweater for 'Uncle Marcus'. Ricky had gone back to sorting through the closet until they'd found something, and she'd hurried out again.

Helpless to assist any of them, Rusty at least tried to stay out of the way; he'd literally not moved further than the bed in the corner, except to open the window. The fact that he was so obviously left out of whatever was going on made him feel awkward, but he made an effort to suppress it. No one was intentionally discounting him… he just had no role to play, and clearly they were all too busy to worry about finding him something to do.

Still, that left him with the serious dilemma of what exactly to do, whether he was supposed to go with them or stay, change, or get ready, or…do something else entirely. He had no idea.

"Uh…" He cleared his throat meaningfully when Ricky came into the room again, still wearing half his pajamas over his suit pants. "Do you know what… I'm, like, expected to do…?" He felt his cheeks heating uncomfortably at having to ask the question, but it was better than doing the wrong thing so he struggled on. "'cause all this didn't exactly come with a rule book..."

And okay, maybe he'd mumbled half of it, but to his annoyance, Ricky was only half-paying attention anyway! Instead, he was caught between responding to a work email and trying to iron his shirt, and Rusty couldn't get himself to repeat the question. After a few seconds, Sharon's son looked up, and he seemed a little taken aback at the dissatisfied glower he was receiving.

"Er – what? Sorry… what book?" He shook his head in confusion, as he just couldn't imagine what books had to do with anything at the moment, but he tried anyway... "There's a nice library in grandpa's study downstairs, if you want to read something…?"

Rusty rolled his eyes. "Thanks," he deadpanned, and couldn't help a disbelieving grimace at Ricky's still-confused expression. Maybe Sharon really had dropped him on his head as a child.

For his part, Ricky gave the boy a doubtful look, a little irked at what he felt was unwarranted contrariness. What was it with this kid, and what on Earth was he missing that his mother obviously saw?

But now was not the time to be thinking about that, and so he tried to be helpful again and suggested that Rusty ask Katie for a book recommendation later, and he tried not to take it personally when the boy only responded with an exasperated groan. Then his thoughts turned elsewhere when Julie rapped gently on the door, stuck her head in and urged him to hurry up and finish getting dressed, because Fathers Connelly and Jameson were there, and they all had to get downstairs.

Slightly before nine, the noise from downstairs had increased significantly, and the agitation on the upstairs floor was reaching a peak. Rusty felt that, whatever procedures the funeral entailed, they were going to start soon. His sense of urgency also peaked, because he was still in his pajamas and if he was supposed to be doing something, he definitely wasn't ready.

When Katie walked into the room again he fairly jumped into her path, relieved at the sudden chance to maybe get some idea of what was expected of him. "Hi – uh, I have no idea if I'm supposed to do anything, help, please." He said it all in one rush of breath, then gave her an anxiously questioning look while she struggled to process the mashed-together words.

Katie regarded him with a thoughtful, if still somewhat hassled, expression. She'd changed into a knee-length black dress and a long-sleeved sweater, the most conservative outfit he'd seen on her yet, and her hair was brushed properly too, pulled back into a simple ponytail.

"Okay," she nodded after a few moments, "I'm … not sure. I've never done this before, either," she admitted with a small, sad shrug. "But I think it's okay if you just stay home. I don't think Mom would mind," she anticipated his concerns, "I don't think she'd want to make you…She probably just wants you to be comfortable."

Which, Rusty agreed, sounded exactly like what Sharon would say. Yet somehow it made him feel both relieved, and a little dissatisfied for reasons he couldn't understand.

Katie gave him a long look. "I don't think she'd mind if you want to come, either," she said quietly. "But… just… "

Stay out of the way, Rusty interpreted, and he didn't even feel offended about it because really, how else was Katie supposed to feel about his presence? What he really wanted to know, though, was what Sharon wanted. Only he couldn't ask her.

So he thanked Katie honestly, knowing that she didn't have any more time to waste debating what he was supposed to do, and she gave him a small smile and reminded him to find her or Ricky for whatever he needed, and then she was gone, leaving him no less conflicted than before.

He didn't particularly want to go to a funeral, and from what he'd read (okay, he'd googled it – what else was he supposed to do when no one was giving him any pointers?) it sounded like a long, scary affair and there were way too many people… And he definitely didn't want to go to Sharon's father's funeral, because he didn't know how to feel about that, Rusty hadn't known the man but somehow he was sad anyway, but maybe he wasn't sad enough and was that disrespectful? And what if she was going to cry and then what was he going to do?

He rubbed both hands to his cheeks, an awful churning in his stomach. What was wrong with him…?

"It's not that you don't want to go, kid." Lt. Flynn had listened patiently to his dilemma (parts of it, admittedly, redacted), and was now giving him an uncharacteristically compassionate look. "It's that you don't want it to be happening at all."

And Rusty, hands stuck in his jeans pockets, had to admit that that rang true.

"It's called sympathy," Flynn added. "It's normal."

Rusty could think of another name to call it, but he wasn't going anywhere near that. "So…?" He gave the Lieutenant a wary look. "What do you think? What should I do?"

And Andy gave him a long look. "I don't know," he said honestly, because he didn't. On the one hand, Sharon would've been glad to have the kid there, but on the other, unless Rusty planned to be standing literally right next to her the whole time (which he was clearly too uncomfortable to do, and in any case Andy wasn't sure how the rest of her family would react to that), she was probably not going to notice his presence anyway, and then why put him through the difficult hours at church and the cemetery at all?

He couldn't help a pang of sympathy for Rusty. Meeting Sharon's family would've been stressful enough under the best of circumstances, and between the letters debacle and DDA Rios and the death of Sharon's father, these were the very worst of circumstances. Neither of them needed even an ounce of extra pressure, and neither did the rest of her family for that matter, so if there was anything that could be done to avoid it…

"Are you going?"

There was a brief silence, then... "Yeah," Andy nodded. "I'm going." But it wasn't the same thing at all, and they both knew it.

He really didn't envy the kid.

In the end, Rusty decided to stay at the house, because honestly there was only one thing he could do for Sharon that Katie and Ricky and the rest of her family wouldn't do (and without the extra awkwardness, too), and that was staying out of the way.

The only reason he was in Minnesota in the first place was so that she could go. His job was done the second she'd arrived at the house, and inserting himself into her private time with her grieving family felt too much like overstepping boundaries. Granted, Rusty had no idea where those boundaries even were anymore, but he was pretty sure they were still there, somewhere, and he definitely didn't want to be overstepping them. Sharon didn't need another thing to worry about, least of all on the day of her father's funeral.

He would've liked nothing more than to ask her exactly what she did need, what she wanted him to do, but of course that wasn't an option, so staying out of the way seemed like the next best thing, and the least likely to make things uncomfortable for Sharon.

So he'd stayed behind at the house, and from the window he watched with some degree of confusion as the large hearse pulled out slowly (he wondered if it was the same driver that Paul had scolded the day before), followed by the priest who'd made that subtly snide comment about moving back the funeral (Father Jameson), and by another priest who for some reason was wearing purple robes (Rusty made a mental note to pay better attention in school, because he was pretty sure the meaning of that had been explained at some point), and by some sort of priest-in-training person (again, more attention!) who was carrying a large cross.

That alone would've been slightly confusing, but what threw him even more was that everyone else was following behind, and it looked like they were planning to walk to church, which was weird, and he hoped it wasn't too far because it looked like it was going to rain... Then he remembered Ricky had pulled out a small umbrella from his suitcase earlier, and he felt a little better, because at least Sharon would be okay if it did start to rain.

He'd spotted her the second he'd looked out, of course, wearing a long black coat over black pants, her hair swept by the strong wind to the point where she was forced to pull it back, and Katie pulled out a hairband from her own ponytail and handed it over. They'd been walking a few yards behind the purple-robed priest, and even from a distance Rusty could tell that Sharon was having trouble sticking to the too-slow pace, as she repeatedly seemed to make almost imperceptible pauses in her steps to keep a more or less constant distance from the priests in front.

The issue was momentarily resolved when she veered off to a side and picked up the pace a little, and trying to see where she was headed, Rusty noticed for the first time a black car stopped about halfway down the driveway. Stephanie stood by it, holding the door open for her mother, and Paul was by the driver's side door.

It looked like they planned to drive their mother to church, which Rusty thought made perfect sense – but the older woman must have been hesitant to get in, because Stephanie seemed to be trying to convince her with ample use of rapid, entreating gestures. When Sharon approached, Stephanie's shoulders slumped and she pulled a slightly irritated face and held out a hand to the open door as if to say, 'you try it'. And again Sharon paused a few feet away from her mother, and again neither tried to reach out, and Rusty felt that twinge of frustration and wished he could hear what they were saying.

A few moments later, Stephanie patted her mother's arm and held out her hand again, invitingly, and this time the woman did climb into the car, and after making sure she was settled, Stephanie closed the door carefully, and Paul got into the driver's seat. Sharon and her sister remained standing for a few seconds, having a brief conversation, and though of course he couldn't hear them, Rusty could guess by their gestures that it was a debate on whether or not to get in the car, as well.

Stephanie used her short, energetic gestures and Sharon stood with her arms crossed, one hand waving occasionally to emphasize a point. They seemed to be in disagreement, although Rusty wasn't sure why – Stephanie seemed to want Sharon to get in the car, and Sharon seemed to want to get in the car too, only every time one of them made a move to actually get in, somehow the disagreement flared up again and they paused and debated some more. It was baffling, really, because Rusty couldn't imagine just what they were arguing about. Maybe there was only one seat available in the back...?

Whatever it was, Sharon lost patience after about a minute of the weird back-and-forth, and she turned on her heels and headed back toward the large group of people. Ricky and Katie had been waiting for her, and the three of them started walking again, at a slightly faster pace as they were now a better distance behind the hearse and the priests, until he lost sight of them among the trees at the end of the driveway.

The crowd of black-clad people stretched on for another minute or so, but Rusty didn't know any more of them, so finally he moved away from the window and sat down on the bed and hoped that Sharon would get through the funeral okay.

The house wasn't as quiet as he'd thought it would be. A few people still milled about downstairs, although no one he knew – the only person Rusty recognized was the plump, black-and-silver-haired lady who'd met him and Katie outside the house the day before. She'd been directing a few others in setting up the living room and parlour for what he assumed must have been some sort of after-burial gathering. She looked a little confused to see him, but took it in stride, and Rusty stayed out of her hair and away from the areas that the caterers were preparing.

After getting a soda and a sandwich from the fridge, he considered going back up to the room, but ended up in the study instead. Ricky's inane suggestion from the morning had given him an idea, at least, of what to do with his Sharon's son had been right about the study having a nice library: the whole right-side wall was covered in shelves, and the shelves filled with books. Now, Rusty didn't consider himself an avid reader exactly, but neither did he wish to stay holed up in a bedroom for four days, and with the house mostly-empty this was a good time to get out without risking to bother anyone.

The study felt peaceful, a room small enough to be more comfortable than the rest of the too-imposing house, and the wall paneling here looked more worn and somehow more friendly than the lacquered, stately mahogany in the hallway outside. There was even a chess board on a small table by the left wall, and two stools, one on either side, indicated that people sometimes sat down and played it. It had been left mid-game, and Rusty spent a few minutes studying it, planning out the moves in his head, trying to decide how the game would have ended up.

The presence of the chess board made the room feel even more appealing; Rusty quickly decided it was the place he liked best in the house so far. He looked at the slightly cluttered desk, a few forms and papers spread out, a pen still resting on top of some page related to property taxes. An old binder and a moleskin notebook were stacked to a side, and on the corner of the desk there was even an empty cup of tea that no one had cleaned up: a reminder of how swift and unexpected the death of Sharon's father must have been. It was here, for the first time, among the half-finished traces of a real, ordinary life, that Rusty thought of the man as a person, rather than the abstract, daunting figure whose disappearance had so heavily marked Sharon's last few days.

The room smelled slightly of wood and tea and old paper, and it was warmer than the rest of the house, too. Maybe because it was smaller it was easier to heat. Yet another reason to like it.

Rusty approached the bookshelf on the wall, and he let his eyes wander idly across the spines of the neatly-bound books. He didn't really feel like reading, but it was either that or homework, and he doubted his mind could come up with an English essay under the circumstances. Let alone one that was 'clear, accessible and consistent', Sister Margaret's holy trinity of desirable traits.

Maybe he could finish the chess game on the board instead… in his head, of course, because he wouldn't have dared disturb a single piece, but it might've been a nice challenge…

Just as he was about to walk back over to the chess table, his gaze landed on a series of wider spines, all different sizes and lined up next to each other at the end of one of the shelves. Photo albums, he recognized, some of them large and leather-bound, other smaller, the covers of some worn and frayed around the edges to indicate their age. Labels in tidy cursive handwriting or hurried print on the back of every one.

John-Paul & Elizabeth - Wedding. Those must have been Sharon's parents, and Rusty realized he hadn't known their names before, so easy had it been to think of them by simply their relationship to her. But they'd had real lives, too, and the titles on the spines of the albums were a strange testimony. Europe '62. Mixed, 70s. Grand Canyon/Nana's House. Rusty wondered who'd had the patience to put them all together.

But the effort had paid off, because now the album labels told the story of a lifetime, and a family, and the sight of it felt to Rusty like something precious. John-Paul - Northeastern. Elizabeth - Family. John-Paul & Elizabeth - Paris '51. That must have been right before Paul was born. And then his attention was drawn to one particular album, that said 'Sharon' on it in elegant cursive.

He hesitated a long moment, before tentatively pulling the photo book off the shelf, careful not to disturb anything. There could be no harm in taking a look, right? As he moved to the window where there was more light, he felt an odd mixture of curiosity and delight and unease, and he couldn't quite wait until he'd reached the wide window sill to open the album, his fingers gripping the edges with great care.

The first picture made him smile. He wouldn't have recognize Sharon, of course, if not for the album title, but knowing the wide-eyed baby on the little duvet was her brought a sense of wonder to him that he didn't fully understand. Rusty didn't know anything about babies, but he thought she couldn't have been older than a few months at most; she had dimples and a slight tuft of hair, and was smiling slightly at something behind the camera. There was a woman's hand in the picture, too, long fingers hooking the clasp on the baby's onesie, and Rusty thought that maybe at that point at least, her mother must have been affectionate to her, because Sharon looked perfectly happy.

There were only a couple of other baby pictures, all of them black-and-white and grainy, and Rusty studied them each with the same sense of wonder. He felt a stitch of amusement at the sight of a particular one where Sharon was in the arms of an older man he didn't recognize – maybe her grandfather? – and he was grinning widely while she stared in fascination at what seemed to be an abnormally large scallion that she grasped in her hand.

It shocked him when he turned the page and there was a picture of a toddler, and even though she must've been, what – two? three at most? – he could already begin to recognize her features. She was wearing a light dress and had surprisingly wavy hair, now a much darker color, and she was walking on chubby legs, looking somewhere to the left of the camera.

Rusty curled up on the window sill, the album resting comfortably on his crossed legs; the house still made its creaking noises and the voices of the caterers carried over, urgent and sharp, but none of it bothered him at all anymore as he continued to leaf through the photos.

In the next picture, Sharon must've been two or three again, only this time there was an older boy with her, maybe eight or so, and Rusty barely knew her brother enough to recognize him as an adult, but he assumed that it was Paul in the photo. He was standing behind Sharon, slightly hunched so she could reach his extended hands with hers, which she did though she had to stand on tiptoes and raise both arms high over her head. He was grinning at her, and she was half-looking over her shoulder with a delighted expression, and Rusty couldn't help flashing back to the first time he'd seen the two of them together, and how Paul had wrapped his coat tight around her and Sharon had touched her forehead to his cheek.

There were a few more shots of the two of them after that, and almost none of Sharon alone, but it didn't seem strange because pictures must've required a lot more effort back then, and it made sense to have everyone in them. And in any case, in each photo she and Paul looked like they got along just fine, even though Paul always looked at the camera with a slightly exasperated expression, and Sharon never quite managed to look straight at the camera at all. But their bodies were at ease, and Paul's larger frame always seemed angled in a way that was almost mindful of his little sister, and she was always looking at him or touching him or reaching out to touch him, and Rusty wondered how much of that closeness had carried over to their adult years.

Four or five pages into the album he saw them with Stephanie for the first time, too, and she looked to be a couple of years old, Sharon was just around school age and Paul had grown about twelve feet and towered over both of them in a way that was almost comical. Sharon held her sister's hand, but just like in the previous photos she was half-turned toward Paul, looking up at him with an expectant gaze. Another page in, the three of them, now maybe a couple of years older, posed for what must have been one of those awkward family photos, and Rusty felt at pang of sympathy at the way Stephanie's short legs seemed to be kicking the tall stool impatiently, and the unconvinced expression on Sharon's face (she was looking just left of the camera, again). Paul alone, now a lanky teenager with signs of acne, stood straight and stared dutifully at the camera.

There were no pictures of Sharon with her parents, Rusty couldn't help but notice, which somewhat perturbed his momentary serenity. On the other hand, there really had only been maybe a dozen pictures documenting just as many years, because it was harder to take pictures back then… plus what did he know, maybe they had a separate album for family pictures, or something. He decided not to let that trouble him, because he was enjoying looking through this album too much, so much that part of him wished he wouldn't have to put it back. He'd come into the study with the vague intention to find a book that wouldn't be dreadfully boring, and instead he'd found a treasured story, in the pages of this photo album, a story more interesting and beautiful to him than anything he'd ever read.

He smiled unwittingly again at a group photo of what must have been a party of sorts. There were about half a dozen people in it, maybe Sharon's siblings and their cousins, and they were all dressed up, albeit in funny seventies outfits. Paul still towered over everyone, and he looked more assured now, older. Sharon looked about sixteen and she was wearing a knee-length, light-colored dress, her hair loose and alarmingly puffy. She was still not quite looking straight at the camera, which by now Rusty found endearingly amusing. Everyone else faced the camera with their full bodies, but Sharon's was ever-so-slightly, barely-perceptibly turned, one of her shoulders sticking out a little more, giving her an air that could've been shy, or coy, or playful, and she'd managed to look toward the camera but she was doing so cautiously, beneath her eyelashes. Still, a happy smile played on her lips.

He found himself flipping back to that picture, because it was the only one that showed Sharon around that age, almost his age. Rusty stared at the photo for a longer time than he had at the rest. She was beautiful back then, too, in a different way than now, and he wondered what her life had been like in high school. There was another photo of her at what must have been her high school graduation, but it was in too large a group and he couldn't tell much. He imagined it must've been good, because she looked happy, and unwillingly he wondered what he'd have looked like if he'd grown up with a family like hers...

She was a few years older in the photo on the next page, maybe nineteen or twenty, and this time Rusty could definitely recognize all her features, although her smile was still wider and easier, and her gaze far less guarded, younger, devoid of that silent, piercing insight that her eyes held now. She was wearing another elegant dress, and had one arm around the waist of a young woman in a wedding gown. Their heads were touching as they both smiled at the camera, and suddenly Rusty recognized 'Aunt Mary-Anne', and realized this must have been at Paul's wedding. Mary-Anne looked happy, of course, and Sharon looked happy for her, and very much at ease as they half-hugged for the picture. Rusty wondered if they were still friends, and he assumed they must be because Mary-Anne had been looking for Sharon only that morning and Sharon had sounded grateful, and he was glad to know there was someone else there for her…

…and then he saw it, the first picture of its kind in the album, and it must have been taken at Paul's wedding as well, because Sharon was wearing the same dress, and the man next to her was wearing a formal suit and Rusty knew, he knew it was her father, and not just because they had the same eyes and nose and chin line. They were standing at the edge of a dance floor, and Sharon had one arm through the hook of his elbow, the other on his forearm, and she seemed to be squeezing his arm slightly, playfully. Her body leaned against the man, her shoulder angled just under his, her head was tilted toward him, and in her entire posture there was such an air of reliance and fondness that Rusty felt a sudden knot in his throat, because he'd never, ever seen Sharon that way with anyone, back home in LA or here, not with her brother, not even her children… His chest tightened as he truly realized just how much she'd lost, and he knew that what he was seeing in this picture was something Sharon could never get back, from anyone, not for the rest of her life, and how could she ever get over that…?

He couldn't help staring at the photo, and he did so for a long while, until his eyes started burning, and then he let out a sad breath and shifted slightly on the window sill. How unfair it seemed, that even as he watched the captured memory of this close moment between Sharon and her father, she was at the church, or perhaps the cemetery already, saying goodbye to him for the last time. Rusty hadn't thought he could feel any more sympathy for her, but he'd been wrong. As he watched her carefree, playful expression in the photo as she looked up at her father, his heart went out to her, and he didn't really know what he believed about heaven and souls and all that, but a small part of him thought up a silent, desperate plea, that if anyone was really up there looking after their loved ones on earth, they'd look after Sharon today.

"Mom?"

Sharon turned her head slightly toward her daughter, and she saw the concern in Katie's eyes, and she might have felt touched, or understanding, or regretful, except there was just no more room inside her for any emotions other than the overwhelming sorrow. It pervaded her so deeply that she could barely breathe through the weight.

"Do you need to leave for a minute…?" Katie's kept her voice down to an impossibly-low whisper, but its tone was serious, worried.

Sharon just gave an imperceptible shake of her head, and turned her attention back to the priests, arms wrapped tight around herself as she tried to keep a handle on the suffocating grief by taking slow, controlled breaths.

"…to show mercy to our ancestors, and to remember his holy covenant…"

The words washed over her without her really understanding them. It had been the same in the church, while Father Jameson had gone through the psalms in a monotonous voice, and Sharon hadn't been able to pry her eyes away from the coffin except to check on her mother. Still, the church hadn't been as bad, because her father had still been there, and there had been time yet because the requiem mass was still not the last thing they would get to do together, but this…

"…in holiness and righteousness before him all our days…"

This was really the end of it. In a few short minutes, the burial rites would end and then they'd have to actually lower her father into the ground and just… leave him there, and the thought of that alone sent waves of heated panic through her chest.

Sharon tensed her shoulders, fingers digging painfully into her forearms; she knew that once again she was letting her emotions get the better of her, and that was the selfish thing to do. This wasn't her loss alone, and she was allowing herself to feel as though it was.

Her mother stood only a few steps away, on Paul's left side where Sharon was on his right, and Sharon was grateful to see her brother keeping a firm hold on their mother's arm. On the older woman's other side was Stephanie, who also had an arm around her waist, and Julie next to Stephanie, and Mary-Anne and their two uncles and her cousin standing just behind. Sharon was grateful for all their presences, too, and she was more than grateful for Katie's head against her shoulder, and the awareness that Ricky was just behind them…

…still none of it changed what was happening, and even as she tried to be considerate of the rest of her family and tell herself that this wasn't about her, the icy terror of losing her father forever raced through her veins and made her body feel heavy and cut off her air.

Katie squeezed her arm tight and nudged Sharon's shoulder slightly with her head. One hand slipped into her mother's, and Sharon did her best to return the reassuring squeeze, although she didn't think she had any force left in her fingers to do so.

"…by which the rising sun will come to us from heaven, to shine on those living in darkness…"

Her father had always liked the Psalms… but now Sharon couldn't remember which was his favorite, and the realization was unreasonably devastating, and she gritted her teeth and bit her lips and tried to swallow, although even that felt like too much effort…

"… and in the shadow of death…"

A soft, heartbroken gasp escaped her lips, and she forced herself to be quiet, but the words had gotten to the others, as well. Stephanie sniffled audibly and Sharon felt even Paul's shoulder suddenly tense up against hers. A wave of sympathy for her brother washed over her, because their father had always been Paul's hero, and to watch this must have been unbearable for him…

She lay her hand briefly on his arm, and squeezed, and met his eyes when he looked down; there was so much silent sorrow in his gaze that the tears she'd been suppressing so far threatened to spill over. With another effort she held them back, and she gave Paul what she hoped was a supportive look and touched his arm again, and he softly patted her leg with his hand.

A light rain fell, more of a mist than actual rain, not enough to take any measures, but it clung to their skin and clothing, and made everything feel even colder. Sharon couldn't help a long shiver, which left her drained, her body unable to handle even that small energy expense.

Father Connely had paused for a second, giving her family a sympathetic look. Sharon was glad that it was him, at least, who was doing this: almost her father's age himself, he'd known them for decades, and his presence was more of a comfort to her mother than that of any other priest would have been. At his compassionate nod, her mother sobbed softly, silent tears trailing down her cheeks. Sharon stepped slightly in front of Paul so she could meet the older woman's eyes; when she did, she gave an encouraging nod of her own, silently begging her mother to hold on just a little longer, and her mother sighed and squared her shoulders, then looked back at the grave. Sharon followed suit.

It looked almost surreal through the curtain of hazy rain.

Oh, god, Dad… I miss you so much.

Sharon shivered again, and was a little startled to feel two hands on her upper arms. Ricky started rubbing gently, in an effort to make her warmer, and it wasn't really working but she tried to give him a thankful smile anyway.

A muted sniffle came from her right shoulder, and Sharon turned her head, her eyes softening as she noticed Katie's tears. Her daughter made a hesitant move to turn away, but Sharon placed a soothing hand on her hair and pulled Katie's head back to her shoulder, and she waited for a few seconds for the younger woman's silent sobs to subside, before she turned and pressed her lips to Katie's forehead.

"It's okay, honey," she whispered, and felt her daughter's arms circle her waist.

Paul glanced over with a sober, concerned look.

Then Father Connelly began to intone, "Eternal rest grant onto him…", and Sharon took a deep breath and braced herself, because she knew this was the very last prayer, and then it would really be over and there would be no other chances to make her peace. She bowed her head and closed her eyes and thought of her father, and tried to find whatever comfort she could in these last few words spoken by his graveside.

A/N: Guys, this chapter left *me* a little emotionally drained. I can't believe we made it past the funeral, at long last. And I'm glad to report we might finally be starting the trip back out of the Well of Unending Angst into which I've sunk all our beloved characters. (maybe. I dare make no forecasts!)

Please review and let me know your thoughts :). Thank you for reading!